


Winter Of His Discontent

by Darkrivertempest



Series: Dramione Advent Stories [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Humor, Churches & Cathedrals, F/M, Mild Language, Missing Persons, Mystery, Post - Deathly Hallows, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 06:03:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darkrivertempest/pseuds/Darkrivertempest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione Granger watches Draco Malfoy flit between the shadows, carrying an immense, unknown burden, despair nipping at his heels.  When the mystery around him intensifies, she resolves to provide that which he desperately needs: hope - for hope costs nothing to give and is priceless to receive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter Of His Discontent

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for the opportunity to write for D/Hr Advent again! I adore this fest! 
> 
> Prompt: Snowdrops
> 
> This is a bit more angsty/heavier than my usual Christmas fare. I tried to make it light and funny, but the prompt didn't lend itself to that genre. My apologies. 
> 
> Profuse thanks to my phenomenal beta, DelphiPsmith - I'm glad you know where I'm going, even if I don't. ;)
> 
>  
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** _The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story._

“Salisbury Cathedral is unique amongst medieval English cathedrals, having been built in just thirty-eight years in a single architectural style, early English Gothic. The tower and spire—Britain’s tallest—were added about fifty-eight years later. The building itself is remarkable, a testimony to the faith and practical skills of those who erected it.”

Hermione Granger listened as the tour guide droned on, taking notes for her current assignment as an Unspeakable. Rumours had been rampant since the end of the wizarding war three years ago of strange time vortexes within the cathedral itself, of people gone missing. Prior Unspeakables had accumulated little to no information that hadn’t already been known, and so the head of the department, Edmund Croaker, had sent novice Unspeakable Hermione Granger to investigate further. She didn’t know whether to be flattered or wary at being given a case that most likely dealt with the veil in the Death Chamber in some way. Croaker wasn’t as insane as Mad-Eye Moody had been, but he was twice as devious. At least he’d waited until Boxing Day. 

“Here we have the oldest working medieval clock in the world. It was made in 1386 of hand-wrought iron and was originally installed in the detached Bell Tower. As is usual for this period, there is no face, the clock being designed to strike only hours.”

“Actually, it was 1306,” murmured a snide voice to her right.

Hermione turned to correct whoever had spoken and came face-to-face with Draco Malfoy, the comment dying on her lips as she stared at the man before her. 

He arched a brow. “Something wrong, Granger?”

She knew she looked completely daft standing there with her slack-jawed expression, but she couldn’t help herself. After Voldemort’s defeat, the Malfoy family had gone missing, literally disappearing off the face of the Earth. Their properties had eventually fallen into Ministry control; the manor where she’d been tortured was now a museum of sorts, teaching the wizards and witches of the next generation about the hardships and losses during that dark time. The Malfoy vaults had been liquidated, most of it going towards war reparations, the remainder to the Ministry itself. To Hermione's knowledge, no word had ever been spoken as to their whereabouts, not even in the Department of Mysteries. After a year or two had passed, the speculation died down and became tales told to spoilt children who didn’t get what they wanted: _You’re acting like a Malfoy, and you know what happened to them!_ Often that was enough to curb the wayward child’s tantrum. 

But here, standing before her, was the son of said family. He was well-clothed, if a bit rumpled, all in black with the only break in colour a small white flower in the lapel of his posh blazer—a snowdrop, if she wasn’t mistaken. Though he affected a neutral look, an air of pride still hung about him.

She must have been staring to the point of unnerving him, for he frowned and looked away to study the contraption that was purported to be the oldest medieval clock. Gathering her wits, she glanced around at the crowd; none of the Muggles were paying either of them any attention, and she wondered how quickly she could subdue Draco should he choose to create havoc. 

“What’re you doing here, Malfoy?” she whispered heatedly, gripping her wand in her jeans pocket.

He glanced in the direction of her hidden hand. “You wouldn’t want to cause a scene in front of all these Muggles, now… would you?”

“I’ll do what I have to do to protect these people.”

Piercing grey eyes met hers. “You won’t need that.”

“We both know that’s not true, not with our history.”

Draco watched as the crowd moved off to the next part of their tour. “Things change.”

“Not likely. Why’re you here?”

“Because I have to be.”

She took another look at him. His arms were crossed, his hair falling into his eyes with a slight wave, looking for all intents and purposes like he’d slept in his tailored black suit after a hard night of drinking. Deciding he wasn’t much of a threat—he’d yet to show, let alone brandish, his wand—she mirrored his pose and gave him a pointed look. “That’s not an answer. Try again.”

His lips thinned in annoyance. “I don’t have to explain anything to you.”

She withdrew her wand from her hip pocket, but kept it hidden, just inside the sleeve of her coat. “You have five seconds to start telling me why you’re here, or I summon the Aurors.”

A hungry gleam flickered across his face. “I’m waiting for something.” 

Warning chimes started ringing in her head. Maybe what Draco was waiting for had something to do with the influx of strange activity in the area. “And what might that be?”

He gave her a lengthy perusal. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

She scoffed. “You could try.”

His lip curled. “I might.”

Though she had her wand in hand, she took an involuntary step back. Malfoy might look unable to cast a simple spell, but his cruelty knew no bounds, especially where it concerned her. “Where have you and your family been hiding for the past three years?”

“I’m not allowed to divulge those details, Granger. Being an Unspeakable, you should know about covert operations.”

The hairs on the back of her neck rose. “How did you know I’m an Unspeakable?”

He gave her a slow smile that should not have made her stomach flip-flop. “I have my ways.”

It was one thing to accidentally meet a former classmate—albeit a nasty, conceited, bigoted one—while on assignment, but it was completely another to have said man know what she did for a living when he’d been missing for over three years. Whispering a Concealment Charm, Hermione let her wand drop until the hilt was in her palm, pointing it at Draco’s chest. “You’d better tell me how you know what I do.”

He raised one hand and forced the tip of the wand away with his forefinger. “Is this how you chat up all your prospective dates?”

“As if I’d consent to date a ferret like you,” she seethed. “Knowing I’m an Unspeakable is privileged information, something you don’t have access to. I want to know now!”

“Is there a problem, Mr Malfoy?”

Draco stiffened and Hermione shifted her attention to the man standing behind Malfoy. The older gentleman was clearly executive material—expensive suit, black hair so neat and clean it looked sculpted, face chiselled as if from stone. By the discomfort Draco was showing, she concluded this must be his superior. 

She held out her hand to the man. “Hermione Granger.”

“You may call me Mr Threnody,” he said, making no move to accept her hand. “And I’ll repeat my question: Is there a problem?”

Taken aback, she darted her gaze to Draco. “No, no problem. Draco and I were just catching up.” It wouldn’t do to draw more attention to them than they already had.

“You had a wand pointed at his heart,” Threnody stated flatly. 

“Erm, yes. Sorry about that. Old habits.” She hastily stashed the wand in her hip pocket. “See? Nothing wrong.”

“Hmm. Mr Malfoy, it’s five o’clock. Time for closing. Run along.”

Draco hesitated, his gaze lingering on Hermione. “See you around, Granger.”

She nodded and watched him walk past a pillar, disappearing into the south nave.

“I trust you’ll keep his location a secret,” Threnody said, pulling Hermione from her thoughts. “It would be most unfortunate if those of the wizarding world were to learn of his whereabouts.”

She frowned. “Has he been here the whole time? Where are his parents? Did you know that they’ve lost everything in the wizarding world.”

Threnody tugged at his white shirt cuffs and gave a disdainful sniff. “His past does not concern me, Miss Granger. Only his future. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I bid you good day.”

And like Draco, he walked up the stone aisle and melted into the crowd.

~~~

Draco stood outside, sheltered in part by the cloisters. A wintry mix of bitter wind, chilling cold and clumps of snow swirled about him, though not actually touching him.

“Are you sure she’s the one you want?”

Draco had plucked the snowdrop from his pocket and slowly twirled it between his fingers. “Granger was always known to rescue those less fortunate,” he muttered.

Threnody arched a brow. “And you think she’ll oblige you, after every slight you’ve flung at her? You only have thirty-eight days left, not a lifetime.”

Draco crushed the snowdrop in his fist. “I have to try, don’t I?” He tossed the fragile flower into the snow.

“Not really. You could just be done with it and let me take you home.”

“Home?” Draco snorted. “You think I’d waste my one chance to escape that hell-hole?”

Threnody shrugged, clearly unapologetic. “I could always add new drapes.”

“You’ll have to do better than that.”

“Ah, you want _incentive_ ,” Threnody purred in Draco’s ear. With a sweeping gesture, Threnody transformed the snow-covered commons to lush green with sunlight dappling through the trees. A blond couple sat beneath one of the trees, laughing. “Your father and mother look content, no?”

Draco clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, repeating the mantra that the vision before him wasn’t real. Though he’d never been told the particulars—blood contract, very hush hush—he and his family had been the ‘prize’ for Mr Threnody and his associates. He had an inkling it might have involved Antonin Dolohov, but it mattered little who had offered them up in exchange for some favour or freedom. His parents, already weary from constant stress and brutal handling by Voldemort, soon succumbed to their host’s cruel attentions. The image being displayed before him was nothing more than a mirage. 

“You can’t bring them back. They’re safe from you, now,” Draco whispered.

The glamour dissolved into reality, the snow sweeping the dream of his parents away into the forgotten places of the cloisters. “You’re no fun,” Threnody pouted. 

Draco glared at him, then turned and walked down the corridor.

“Remember, you can’t tell her,” Threnody called after the retreating figure.

* * *

Hermione studied the stone rubbing she’d done of a tomb slab for one Thomas Lambert.

_Hic Sepultus Est, or Here Lies Buried The body of Tho. the sonn of Tho. Lambert Gent. who was borne May Y 13 1683 & dyed Feb 19 the same year_

The discrepancies in the dates were just one instance of the time deviations seen in and about Salisbury Cathedral—the whole town, to be honest. Some could be explained by the differences between the Gregorian and Julian calendar, but it was the opinion of the more learned scholars that the cathedral rested upon the same ley lines as Stonehenge, creating additional variants.

Putting the rubbing aside, she began to go over the layout of the cathedral, examining the plans showing the double transepts with aisles and extended east end. It was enough to make her eyes scratchy with fatigue after half an hour of close study. Setting the parchment aside, she tried to concentrate on something other than the thoughts of Draco that kept flooding her mind. She didn’t _want_ to think about him. But the more she tried to avoid thoughts of him, the more he invaded her mind, until she finally extinguished the lamp in hopes of finding forgetfulness in sleep.

Awakening after a fitful and dream-filled night, she looked blearily in the mirror and conceded defeat to her overactive brain. She needed to go back to the cathedral to do more research, she reasoned. It had nothing to do with wanting to see if Draco was still there.

* * *

The cathedral itself drew both the eye and the heart upwards. Outside it was ornate, inside stripped and pure. Soaring ceilings, shadows and light, stained glass and time-worn wooden choir stalls made the cathedral feels both spiritual and oddly down-to-earth.

She found Draco standing at the back of a crowd near the Trinity Chapel. At the forefront stood a wooden base topped with a wrought-iron sculpture that resembled barbed-wire, in the middle of which rose a massive white taper. 

“What is it?” she asked quietly.

He didn’t seem surprised at her presence. “The Muggles call it the Amnesty Candle, dedicated to prisoners of conscience.” 

Hermione wondered if Draco considered himself such a prisoner. 

He turned his head and pinned her with a stare, as if reading her mind. “It’s in honour of those who’re unjustly abused because of their beliefs or minority status, a reminder that there needs to be a stand against injustice.” He looked away and shrugged. “Pathetic, if you ask me.”

“Pathetic to you, maybe, but to the oppressed, it’s a symbol of hope.”

A smirk curled the corner of his mouth. “Still crusading, eh, Granger?”

“Still a petulant, whiny sod that cries when daddy doesn’t bring home a Mudblood for him to torture?” she retorted.

The nascent smile immediately dropped from Draco’s face, and for some reason she wasn’t going to examine closely, she was disappointed to see it fade. “I don’t do that anymore,” he muttered. 

“Only because you have someone looking over your shoulder.”

Draco’s jaw clenched. “You know _nothing_ about my circumstances, Granger. Leave off.”

“So why don’t you tell me? Tell me why you’re lurking around a Muggle cathedral, doing who knows what. And who is Mr Threnody? He can’t be a Ministry official, there hasn’t been a Wizengamot trial—they could never find you! You—”

“Shhh!” Several people sent glares in Hermione’s direction at her rising voice.

“Sorry,” she whispered with a gesture of apology. She turned back to Draco, but he was gone. Scanning the crowd, she found no platinum blond head amongst them. 

She did notice, however, a cluster of three snowdrops tied with a white ribbon, resting on a pew near where he’d been standing. She plucked the flowers from their perch and studied them. Snowdrops—symbolising consolation… and hope. Did Draco hope for something? If so, what? Growling in irritation, she marched off to the exit, determined to pin the fugitive wizard down the next time she saw him.

* * *

It was late, near closing time, when she found Draco again two days later. He looked to be studying a massive tomb that measured the height of the middle stained-glass window behind it. Standing with his hands behind his back, the occasional tilt of his head was the only movement she observed for at least ten minutes. He was once again dressed in the dishevelled black suit and she wondered, not for the first time, why he hadn’t changed his clothing. Was he not allowed? She hadn’t seen Mr Threnody again since that first day, but she suspected he lingered close by, watching their interactions. 

“Did you know that Queen Elizabeth separated Lady Catherine Grey and her husband because their marriage endangered the Queen’s position on the throne?” Draco mused aloud. 

Hermione moved to stand next to him, taking in the splendour of the ornate tomb. “Yes, it’s quite sad, actually. After they had a son, the Queen imprisoned them, but they still managed to see each other and Catherin became pregnant again. It enraged Elizabeth so much, she forbade them to be reunited. She sent Edward Seymour with the oldest child and Catherine with the youngest into house arrest on opposite ends of the country. They never saw each other again.”

Draco nudged her shoulder with his. “Think my father would’ve done something that drastic if I’d secretly married someone like you?”

She swallowed nervously. Why in Merlin’s name would Draco pose such a question? “I think your father would’ve killed me before the honeymoon began and then blamed it on you.”

This elicited a snort from Draco. “You have a vivid imagination. It’s true, of course.” 

“What happened with you and your family?” There were other things she wanted to know, but starting with the basics would help fit the puzzle pieces in the correct slots. 

His gaze darkened. “You needn’t worry about them.”

“But I—” 

“I thought you were doing research for an Unspeakable project?”

“I was. I am. I’m still working on it, that is.” 

“Maybe you should take a break,” he advised. 

“I can’t just stop my work in the middle of something important.”

“You consider me and my family important?”

She gave him a perplexed look. “Of course you’re important.”

He grinned. “How important?”

There was that fluttery feeling in her stomach again. “Well...very. I know the Minister himself would like…” She trailed off at his expression of disdain. “You have to know that most, if not all, of the Malfoy’s assets have been liquidated.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, seemingly unconcerned. He moved closer to the massive tomb, studying the marble effigies of Edward Seymour and his wife resting atop the slabs. His fingers skimmed over Catherine’s stone face. 

Hermione stared at him, nonplussed. “You must care about your legacy.”

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Must I?” 

“Considering that you and your family murdered innocent people to protect it, I find it hypocritical that you care nothing for it now.”

His expression didn’t change, but he turned his attention back to the tomb. “We can’t all have perfect lives like you, Granger.”

She had to close her eyes to keep from causing a scene, inhaling deeply and releasing a harsh breath to avoid an invective-filled rant. When she opened her eyes, Draco was gone again. Instead of giving into the insane urge to stomp her foot in frustration, she withdrew her wand and waved it over the area, searching for Draco’s magical signature. Nothing, not even a trace that he’d been there previously. There were, however, a handful of snowdrops perched near Catherine’s effigy. Hermione hesitantly collected them, intending to add them to the previous bunch she’d gathered which were in a jar at home. Oddly, they showed no signs of wilting whatsoever, the blossoms the same pristine and glistening white as the day she’d found them.

“Where are you?” she whispered, her soft voice faintly echoing.

* * *

Threnody found Draco loitering in the octagonal Chapter House. “You still think she’ll save you?”

Draco kept his gaze focused on the panes of stained glass that comprised each side of the structure. “I’ve put my faith in lesser things before.” 

“Yes,” Threnody cooed, sidling up to Draco and wrapping an arm around the wizard’s shoulders. “And look where it got you.”

Draco shrugged off the man’s touch. “Granger’s resourceful.” 

“False hope, how quaint.” Threnody patted Draco’s chest. “Thirty days left.”

Draco watched the man leave, controlling with difficulty, the urge to embed every shard of glass in the house into the slender body walking away.

* * *

“Should I wish you a happy New Year?” Hermione asked as she stood with Draco at the bottom of the tower.

He put his foot on the first step. “That was four days ago, Granger. Little bit late, don’t you think?” He smirked when she advanced two steps ahead and turned to face him. 

She wished the slight ache she felt in her chest would stop flaring up when Draco was near. “It’s never late to wish someone happiness.”

His features were blank as he brushed past her and ascended the stairs into the first main section of the tower. When she didn’t follow, he turned and looked at her challengingly. “Are you coming?”

She eyed him warily. “You’re not going to push me over the parapet, are you?”

“If I’d wanted you dead, Granger, I would’ve simply drowned you in the baptismal font.”

For some reason, the thought made her burst out laughing. Her mirth was infectious, as Draco soon joined in. It was the first time since finding him that she’d seen him express any real emotion. 

Finally their laughter subsided and she shook her head. “Good to know you’d like to keep me around.” After the words left her mouth, she felt mortified. Why would she say such a thing to Draco Malfoy, of all people?

His expression softened for a moment. “Keeping you around is… _vital_ to me.” He ducked his head shyly, and turned to continue up the steps.

 _Vital_? His emphasis of the word struck her as odd. Why was he being evasive? She was so focused on the riddle of Draco Malfoy, that he was halfway to the base of the spire before she came back to herself. She ran up the stairs to join him panting lightly, and followed Draco’s gaze as he peered at the intricate scaffolding that criss-crossed the spire. He soon moved off to one of the eight doors that exited onto the parapet. Following him, she found him leaning back against the stonework, his head tilted back and his eyes closed.

The light snow that was falling swirled and eddied over him, but never actually rested on his clothes or hair. Had he cast a Protection Charm of some sort that she hadn’t witnessed beforehand? It was bitterly cold, but he appeared unaffected in his unkempt black suit, while she trembled despite her winter clothes, heavy coat, woollen hat and mittens. 

“You’re thinking too loudly, Granger,” he muttered. He opened one eye to peer at her and sighed. “Come here.” 

Cautiously, she went to stand off to his right, but he tugged her in front of him, turned her, then gently pulled her to his chest and leaned back. She wondered idly why she wasn’t struggling, but the thought was lost when he cradled her within the warmth of his arms. 

“Close your eyes,” he whispered, his nose brushing her temple.

She obeyed and immediately felt like she was falling. Not in the physical sense, but her emotions surged to a crest and dipped below her stomach, leaving her breathless.

“Let go and feel.” Draco’s words were puffs of warmth on her chilled cheeks. “Can you feel the building shiver with the wind?” 

By Merlin, she could! It was the minutest of vibrations, but it was there. She could even hear the wooden scaffolding inside the spire creaking as the tower swayed. Her body was weightless, buoyed by the clouds and snow. Immersed as she was, it was a few moments before she realised she was alone, Draco having vanished once more. 

“Malfoy?” 

Only a swift burst of wind answered, and upon the parapet, a clutch of snowdrops awaited her.

* * *

Draco was sitting upon Saint Osmund’s tomb when Hermione found him five days later, his knees drawn up and his arms wrapped around them, staring at the magnificent Gabriel Loire stained-glass window. The predominantly blue hue was soothing, peaceful, yet Draco seemed pensive. 

She didn’t chastise him for his irreverent behaviour, but instead joined him, adopting the same position. Though she was still technically on assignment from the Ministry to research the disturbances in the region, she found herself more concerned over Malfoy’s fate. And wasn’t that a cauldron of vile potion just waiting to boil over? 

“Where is your family, Draco?” she asked softly. 

“I…” He closed his eyes, grimacing. “Somewhere safe, Granger.”

Leaning against him, hoping to lend him some of her warmth, she asked, “Why’re you here?”

He gave her the same answer he’d given her at the start. “Because I have to be.”

“But why?” 

He pursed his lips and refused to answer. 

“Why’re you always leaving bouquets of snowdrops when you disappear?” He uttered not a single word of explanation, and she had the uneasy feeling that something was preventing him from doing so. “Are you under some kind of enchantment?”

He shifted away from her and stood. 

“Don’t leave,” she pleaded. “Is there something I can do to help you?” The suspicions flooded her mind. “Are you trapped here? Is your family trapped here? Who is Mr Threnody?”

At her last question, Draco turned and met her curious gaze. “Go home, Granger.” He closed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath. “And don’t come back.” He turned and began to walk away.

“What? Why?” She stood and made to follow him, but stopped when he gave her a deadly glare.

Saying nothing more, he headed for the Vestry and melted into the shadows.

Frustrated and a bit frightened, she resumed her seat atop the marble slab and dropped her head into her hands. She wanted to scream, to make Draco understand that if he needed help, she’d be there for him, peculiar as that sounded. But now he didn’t even want her to come back. 

Raising her head, she caught a glimpse of white. Sure enough, a small bunch of snowdrops lay upon the slab where Draco had been sitting.

* * *

“Four days, my dear boy,” Mr Threnody reminded Draco. “Or you could give up now. I doubt she’ll return.”

It was on the tip of Draco’s tongue to agree, but the lone snowdrop he held in his hand gave him the tiniest smidge of hope—a symbol of light in a time of great darkness, of protection and comfort in the long winter days.

When no answer was forthcoming, Threnody shrugged and studied his nails. “Ah well, the steeper the fall.”

* * *

Hermione stared at the snowdrops lying on the table in front of her, thirty-nine in all. She’d studied the lore associated with snowdrops, but hadn’t come to any solid conclusions. Sometimes called Candlemas Bells, snowdrops were harbingers of spring and marked the Festival of Candles on the second day of February, recognised as the last of the forty days of Christmas. 

“What am I not seeing?” she murmured to herself, slowly pacing back and forth. “Draco is repeatedly present at the center of the increased temporal activity that’s drawn the attention of the Unspeakable Department. He’s always dressed the same. He won’t tell me where his family is. He always leaves snowdrops—thirty-nine snowdrops. Forty days of Christmas. He’s wandering around Salisbury Cathedral. Who is Mr Threnody?”

On this last question, Hermione paused. “Threnody. Hymn of…” Her eyes widened. “Oh, no.” She grabbed her coat and rushed out the door.

* * *

She found Draco sitting in one of the chairs of the Quire Aisle, looking eastward towards the Trinity Chapel. He didn’t acknowledge her presence, but she knew he was aware of her, which was confirmed when he didn’t react to her sudden appearance at his side.

“Your parents are dead, aren’t they?” she said gently, her voice low. 

Draco merely dropped his head to examine something he held in his palm. 

“Today is February second.”

“Who knew you could read a calendar?” Draco teased, smirking a little. His gaze spanned the length of the Nave. “The architecture here is such that the number of pillars, windows and doorways is said to equal the hours, days and months of the year.”

Hermione bit her lip to keep it from trembling. “How many times have you counted?”

“Three,” he whispered.

Merlin, the three missing years. “Will you be forced to count again?”

He gave her a pained smile. “This was the last time.”

She frowned. “Why? What’s changed?”

“Nothing,” he admitted sadly. He handed her the lone snowdrop he’d been holding. “They won’t wither.”

“I don’t want it,” she ground out, trying to swallow past the lump in her throat. “Threnody is… it’s a hymn of mourning, a memorial to a dead person.” Her voice was thick, despite herself. “But you’re not dead.” She touched his face, felt the warmth emanating from his skin. 

He leaned into her touch and closed his eyes. “As good as.”

“No!” she rasped. “Tell me how to help you!”

“He can’t, silly girl.”

Hermione watched as Mr Threnody strolled up the aisle, a very smug smile curling his lips. “You’re an Unspeakable, Miss Granger. You know how these curses work. He _could_ tell you, but then that would ensure I win.”

“Win what?” Hermione bit out. She found Draco’s hand and gripped it tightly, crushing the fragile flower between them.

Threnody waved nonchalantly. “Oh, the old standard: his soul, his eternal torment, his arse for my amusement.” Threnody waggled his brows. “His mother and father escaped their fate, but I’ll be damned if I don’t get _some_ recompense.” 

Hermione seized on this information. “How? How did Lucius and Narcissa earn a reprieve?”

“Now, now… that’s cheating.” Threnody shook his finger at her then looked at Draco. “Five o’clock, Mr Malfoy. Time to go.”

Draco stiffened within her grasp, but said nothing. He quickly dipped his head and pressed his lips to Hermione’s cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“No! I can… I want…”

“What?” Threnody mocked. “Care for him? Love him? Time’s up, my dear. He’s had forty days to earn your affection, you gave him nary a ‘come hither’ smouldering look.”

 _That_ was all she had to do to prove to this creature that Draco was deserving of compassion? She cupped Draco’s jaw and pressed her mouth to his.

“Stale, boring,” Threnody drawled.

Draco solved that by pulling her close and nuzzling open her lips, his tongue touching hers. Oh, mercy… that was… who knew Draco was so talented… she could hear herself whimpering!

“Bloody hell!”

When she was able to withdraw and breathe properly, Hermione turned to find no sign of Threnody. “Where…” She coughed and cleared her throat, wrinkling her nose at the overpowering scent of brimstone. “Where did he go?”

“Back to hell, hopefully,” Draco said, mouthing her jaw and moving on to her neck. 

She drew back and stared at him. “Did I just save you from becoming a hellish minion?”

At least he had the grace to look sheepish. “Something like that, yes. Thank you. Can we get back to kissing?”

She plucked the mangled snowdrop from his sleeve and stuck it in her bushy hair. “As you were, Mr Malfoy,” she sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck to bring him closer.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want visuals to accompany the story, here is a link to Salisbury Cathedral's website:
> 
> http://www.salisburycathedral.org.uk/gallery.php
> 
> Each place Hermione finds Draco is represented within the gallery.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover for Winter Of His Discontent](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168405) by [delicatefabric](https://archiveofourown.org/users/delicatefabric/pseuds/delicatefabric)




End file.
